


A Night of Stars

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after the banishment of the House of Fëanor to Formenos, Celebrimbor, still a child, learns about the stars from his grandfather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Stars

Formenos slept, but Tyelperinquar was awake. He sat up in bed, listening to the silence and pulling the blankets closer around his shoulders in the darkness. It was colder here in the mountains than in Tirion, and at night when the fires in the grates had burned down to nothing, the faint and distant light of Telperion was not enough to keep the chill at bay. It was always cold at night in the intricate network of rooms delved or precariously built into the mountainside. There were deep places and high places here, strong rooms far beneath the earth and graceful, delicate towers that seemed almost to float against cliff faces, clinging on only by the ingenuity of the architects, high above what had previously been an unremarkable little mountain town. His father and grandfather had worked together on the design, he knew.

 

Tyelperinquar liked Formenos, but the sudden move here, which no one seemed to want to explain to him, made him uneasy for reasons he could not quite put into words. Suddenly, he wished his room was one of those directly behind the rock face, or on the outside, so that he could have a window through which he could see the sky.

Getting out of bed, he shivered a little as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Feeling his way to the chest of drawers in the corner, he rooted around for a lampstone, blinking owlishly as he removed the cover and its pale blue-white light illuminated the room, dazzling him. When his sight returned, he slipped out of the door and set off silently down the stone corridor outside. It was rare that it was so quiet here, with the whole family inhabiting the many interlinked levels, sprawling and complex though they were. He hesitated briefly outside the room where his father and mother slept, listening for any sound. He could knock and wake them, he knew. But something made him turn away, continuing down the corridor. He knew these passges well enough not to need the light, but he held it before him anyway as he padded along on quiet feet, listening to his own breathing and occasionally making a turn at random. He reached what he knew was the entrance to one of those delicate towers, and on an impulse, he began to climb the stairs, concentrating on the rhythm of his feet on the spiral. He was just beginning to feel as though he were repeating the same section of staircase over and over, when he suddenly found himself at the top, standing in front of a wooden door, unbolted although it lead outside to a balcony.  _Strange_ , he thought. Tentatively, he pushed it open a crack, peering out and wincing a little as the cold night air brushed at his face.

It was a clear night, and this far from the Trees, the sky glimmered with stars. But the velvety blackness studded with points of silver seemed to have a dark patch cut out of it. He stared at it, raising his light as he tried to make out what the shape was. Suddenly, it straightened up, and he saw that it was a figure, which was turning towards him. It was his grandfather, he realised with a jolt of nervousness, who was perhaps the last person he would have chosen to be found by when wandering the halls at night. Too late, he drew back, closing the door again as he tried to cover the lampstone guiltily. But Fëanáro had already seen him. His grandfather regarded him appraisingly and folded his arms.

“Tyelperinquar. What are you doing up here? Should you not be sleeping?”

He did not sound angry, but Tyelperinquar did not entirely trust his own ability to tell. He looked at he floor and said nothing, curling his bare toes over the threshold and clutching the lampstone tightly to his chest. Fëanáro sighed.

“Come, Tyelpe. I will not punish you for being awake at night. But since you’re awake anyway, it’s time I showed you something.” He took Tyelperinquar’s hand, gently leading him away from the door towards the parapet.

“First, put the light out. It will spoil our night vision.” Tyelperinquar obediently slipped the lampstone into his pocket. It seemed very dark now. But gradually objects began to materialise out of the blackness, and he saw a brass telescope on a tripod, pointed upwards towards the star-filled sky. On the broad parapet was a pen, a bottle of ink and a sheaf of notes, calculations spilling across the pages, and diagrams of constellations meticulously labelled in Fëanáro’s neat, curling handwriting. Tyelperinquar stared in fascination, feeling a sudden hunger to understand such things.

“Would you like to look through the telescope?”

Tyelperinquar nodded eagerly. Fëanáro carefully adjusted it to the right height, then bent down to look through himself, fiddling with a dial for a moment. Then he moved aside, gesturing for Tyelperinquar to look. He peered into the eyepiece, trying to copy his grandfather’s movements exactly. He blinked, and suddenly the stars bloomed into sharp focus, bright and large and breathtakingly close. He started back, a muffled exclamation of joy escaping his mouth. Fëanáro laughed affectionately.

“Exquisite, is it not? One of the advantages of this… sentence… is the chance to see the stars, almost as they would have appeared from Cuiviénen.”

Tyelperinquar did not answer, but only smiled and looked back through the telescope. He frowned a little, trying to remember his lessons, and looked up at his grandfather. “Do you know  _all_  their names? The stars, I mean? And the constellations?”

Fëanáro considered. “Not all of them. Indeed, some do not even have names, yet. And even if I did, we should be here for a very long time if I tried to point out even a small fraction. But I can certainly tell you about a few of them. Would you like that?”

“I would love it.”

Fëanáro lifted Tyelperinquar and sat him on the parapet, so that his feet swung in empty air. Tyelperinquar’s stomach leapt as he involuntarily looked down into the void at his feet.“I… atar would not want me to… what if I fall?”

Fëanáro climbed up onto the wide ledge beside him and smiled. “Do not worry, little one, you will not fall. I will make sure of it.” He placed a strong arm around Tyelperinquar’s shoulders. “See?” He frowned, noticing his grandson’s bare feet, and took off the heavy woollen cloak he wore, draping it around Tyelperinquar like a blanket. Then he took both of his grandson’s chilled hands in his own much larger ones, rough with calluses. Tyelperinquar smiled in relief as the warmth flooded back into his numbed fingers. Fëanáro never seemed to get cold.

They both looked back up at the stars.

“Can you see the arc of seven stars?” asked Fëanáro, pointing. Tyelperinquar nodded. “That is the sickle of the Valar.” He frowned a little. “Although I always felt it looked more like a chain or a rope of some sort, rather than a sickle.” He paused as if about to say more, but then seemed to decide against it. Instead he pointed to another part of the sky. “And there is Menelmacar. Look, you can see the three stars of his belt, and his sword, just there.” Tyelperinquar squinted upwards. “Is he a warrior then?” he asked.

“He is” replied Fëanáro. “And it is said that he is an omen of the Final Battle, with which will come the ending of Arda.” He smiled wryly, seeing the fright on Tyelperinquar’s face. “But I would not worry about that yet, little one. There are far more pressing troubles in this world.”

“There are?” asked Tyelperinquar in a small voice.

Fëanáro’s face darkened for a moment. “Unfortunately, yes.” His voice was taut now, and seemed to carry an undercurrent of crackling fire that frightened Tyelperinquar much more than talk of far-off battles, whether they would end the world or not. But he did not say any more.

Suddenly there was a voice behind them. “Tyelpe!  _There_  you are!” They both turned to see Curufinwë standing in the doorway. “Your mother heard a sound, and then when you were not in your room… Formenos is not Tirion, Tyelpe. And what have I told you about wandering off at night? You are old enough to know better.”

“Do not worry, Curvo” said Fëanáro. “He is quite safe. We were looking at the stars. Care to join us?”

As Tyelperinquar watched, his father’s face softened slightly. He crossed to the parapet and climbed up on the other side of Tyelperinquar, then picked up the top page from the pile of notes and scanned the first few lines. He placed it carefully back and looked at his son. He tutted quietly, but he was smiling a little as he affectionately brushed a stray lock of hair out of Tyelperinquar’s eyes. “Tyelpe, I hope you haven’t been being a nuisance to your grandfather.”

Tyelperinquar looked away, blushing a little.

“On the contrary” said Fëanáro. “He has a bright, enquiring mind, and I have tended to find that the company of such a one is rarely a nuisance.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Although there were times when you and your brothers would cause enough trouble to make me question even that strongly-held belief of mine.”

Curufinwë smiled, and put his arm around his son, staring out into the night. But now the sky was starting to change colour as Laurelin waxed, far away. From far below, the sounds of the cries of the herald of the first watch of the new day echoed up towards them, warped by reflection off the rock face.

The three of them sat in contemplative silence as they watched the light grow, bringing out colours, the reddish rock of the mountains that surrounded them and the dark, rich green of the forest in the distance.

But Tyelperinquar did not see it. Heedless of the sharp drop before him and trusting in his father’s and grandfather’s steadying arms, he had fallen asleep. 


End file.
